What did Wassail inspire?
noun; meaning "the singing of Christmas carols, going from house to house,"
or "a festivity where much drinking takes place."
verb; meaning "to drink to the health of a person,"
or "to go from house to house singing carols at Christmas."
or "a festivity where much drinking takes place."
verb; meaning "to drink to the health of a person,"
or "to go from house to house singing carols at Christmas."
Our wassail cup is made
Of the rosemary tree,
And so is your beer
Of the best barley.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too;
And God-
“ENOUGH.”
Silence descended upon the quartet as their attention focused on the sudden burst of light from a nearby doorway. A woman dressed in green velvet glared at them, her face twisted with disgust, before continuing.
“Be gone with your kind on this night. We have no need of your verses and the darkness they bring to our door.”
“But madam,” one of the singers began. “We only bring-“
“You only bring words to corrupt our ears, concealed in melodies by your forked tongues. I cast you out demon. Speak no more to me or my family.”
With that, she turned and slammed the door. The members of the band blinked and looked to each other, but it wasn’t the last time they would hear such harsh words this night. The leader shrugged, and together, they walked on to seek out a more favorable venue.
From inside the house a young girl watched in horror and curiosity as the events unfolded. As the men wandered off, she knelt on the cushions and pressed her nose to the glass, watching to see where they were headed.
When they were no longer visible, she settled back down on the window seat, fiddling with the end of one of her braids. She wandered through her thoughts, imagining what the men might have had concealed beneath their caps, or what dastardly words they might have sung had her mother not intervened. But the song had been so cheerful. And the tune….
Before she knew it, she was humming the bit she had heard them singing. And from there, she found herself merrily skipping about the sitting room. Around the decorated tree and past the table of food for the night’s party-
“Beatrice.” her mother’s voice intoned, chilling the air.
She stopped mid skip, stumbling as she caught her balance, and looked up to her mother’s scowling face.
“What were you doing just now?”
“I… I was…”
“You KNOW we do not sing in this household. Singing only attracts the darkness.”
“Oh, let the child be Violet!” came a man’s voice from the corridor.
“Papa!” Beatrice exclaimed, now emboldened and rushing past her mother’s gaze.
“Harold, I don’t want her thinking that singing is acceptable! She isn’t one of... their kind.” Violet insisted.
“Dear, she was only humming, not chanting the words. And even you sing when you go to church.”
“It’s not the same thing, and you would know that if you attended more often.” She said icily.
Of the rosemary tree,
And so is your beer
Of the best barley.
Love and joy come to you,
And to you your wassail too;
And God-
“ENOUGH.”
Silence descended upon the quartet as their attention focused on the sudden burst of light from a nearby doorway. A woman dressed in green velvet glared at them, her face twisted with disgust, before continuing.
“Be gone with your kind on this night. We have no need of your verses and the darkness they bring to our door.”
“But madam,” one of the singers began. “We only bring-“
“You only bring words to corrupt our ears, concealed in melodies by your forked tongues. I cast you out demon. Speak no more to me or my family.”
With that, she turned and slammed the door. The members of the band blinked and looked to each other, but it wasn’t the last time they would hear such harsh words this night. The leader shrugged, and together, they walked on to seek out a more favorable venue.
From inside the house a young girl watched in horror and curiosity as the events unfolded. As the men wandered off, she knelt on the cushions and pressed her nose to the glass, watching to see where they were headed.
When they were no longer visible, she settled back down on the window seat, fiddling with the end of one of her braids. She wandered through her thoughts, imagining what the men might have had concealed beneath their caps, or what dastardly words they might have sung had her mother not intervened. But the song had been so cheerful. And the tune….
Before she knew it, she was humming the bit she had heard them singing. And from there, she found herself merrily skipping about the sitting room. Around the decorated tree and past the table of food for the night’s party-
“Beatrice.” her mother’s voice intoned, chilling the air.
She stopped mid skip, stumbling as she caught her balance, and looked up to her mother’s scowling face.
“What were you doing just now?”
“I… I was…”
“You KNOW we do not sing in this household. Singing only attracts the darkness.”
“Oh, let the child be Violet!” came a man’s voice from the corridor.
“Papa!” Beatrice exclaimed, now emboldened and rushing past her mother’s gaze.
“Harold, I don’t want her thinking that singing is acceptable! She isn’t one of... their kind.” Violet insisted.
“Dear, she was only humming, not chanting the words. And even you sing when you go to church.”
“It’s not the same thing, and you would know that if you attended more often.” She said icily.
“Mmm, well there’s a subject actually worthy of argument,” said Harold placing a small greeting kiss on his wife’s cheek, “But I’m afraid it will have to wait until after the party. Now, Bea, can you run along and see what chef is up to? Our guests will be arriving soon.”
~~~~~~
Over the next hour, the front room filled with numerous guests; colleagues, friends, family all rubbing elbows and celebrating the season with merry drinking and squabbles over bits of food.
Beatrice carefully maneuvered through the crowd balancing a drink and plate of food. Dodging an overly enthusiastic arm, she finally stopped in front of an elderly woman in one of the plush armchairs.
“Here you go Grandma.” She said, carefully handing her the plate.
“Why thank you Bea.” she said, taking the plate and prodding the cookies. “What was that tune you were humming just now?”
“You heard me?” she gasped. Beatrice’s eyes grew wide, as she glanced around, worried that others may have heard her.
Her grandmother laughed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of dear.”
“But mother said…”
“Bah! Your mother is just like mine was. All fire and brimstone when it comes to singing.” Her hand waved as though she was clearing the girl’s words from the air around her. “Have I ever told you about the night I met a group of carolers?”
Beatrice’s mouth fell open.
“You actually spoke with them?” she asked in disbelief.
“Oh more than that dear child! It was a cold mid-winter night when I was about fifteen…
~~~~
We were living in a small town, just on the outskirts of the Northern Woodlands. My mother had raised us to be good believers of course, but it’s the nature of every youngster to challenge all authority. Especially in those in-between years.
Now we had been warned off, not to talk to any of the strangers that would be passing through and offering songs. They were demons, we were told. And given the chance, they’d sing all manner of temptations and lure us off into the woods where we’d freeze, or worse, become demons ourselves.
I of course was curious to see if it was really true, so I decided that given the chance, I’d follow the group should they pass through town. Now it’s not to say I was foolhardy. I had it all planned out so that I wouldn’t be the one lead away by their songs. I wore a pair of earmuffs, and padded them with a pair of woolen socks so that the only sound I could hear was my own breathing.
I snuck out the back door as mother was shooing them away and watched as they moved on. There were four in total. A young boy with a patchwork cap, an older man with a raggedy top hat, an elderly man with a long white beard and a crushed bowler, and a giant of a man, three heads taller than the tallest of the three, who wore a wreath upon his head.
As they stopped at each house, the giant man would pluck a spring of greenery from his wreath, handing a leaf to each of the men and then, in unison, they would start singing. It seemed as though my eyes were playing tricks on me, but the leaves they held began to glow. Not like fire, but they became somehow greener and brighter.
I watched in awe, but just as at my own house, the door would always open, the singing would stop, and the men would be chased away.
It was over two hours in the cold before they finally reached the small tavern on the edge of town. As it began to lightly snow they glanced at one another before they nodded and headed inside. I was uncertain now what I wanted to do. Should I follow them in there? I guessed that they wouldn’t try any of their tricks in front of the patrons, and so I waited a few minutes before walking in after them.
The four men were gathered around the hearth with drinks in their hands. I grudgingly took off my padded earmuffs and, having purchased a cup of warm cider, found a chair within earshot.
“It’s the darndest thing.” Said the old man with the crushed bowler. “Ain’t seen so many of them turn us away before.”
“Ah, there-there old timer.” Intoned the man with top hat.
“I just wish we could make ‘em understand.” Said the young man pulling off his patchwork cap and running a hand through his hair and revealing a pair of horns.
I stared in disbelief, but there they were, plain as day. Two tiny, twisted horns poking out of his curly hair.
As though he could somehow sense that I was staring, he turned around, and laughing as I squeaked, he flashed me a smile before replacing his cap and tipping the brim. In similar fashion, the man with the top hat lifted his hat, revealing tall twisted horns, and the old man lifted his bowler revealing what appeared to be ram’s horns, high upon his head. The giant man did nothing with his wreath, but gave me a giant grin with white teeth that shone from under his dark beard.
“Good evenin’ miss” said the young man. “Lovely weather ‘eh?”
“Ha!” said the old man. “It ain’t fit for no demon out tonight, let alone a lady like yerself.”
“If you wanted to hear us sing, why didn’t you just ask?” inquired the top hatted man. “It would have been much simpler than following us all night.”
Well I was shocked. They had known all along! How did I ever think I could outsmart a demon? But I had to say something. I had to keep my wits about me, lest they lure me away to the woods.
“Well someone had to protect the towns-folk.” I said with an air of confidence and fearlessness.
“Protect them? From wha’?” asked the young man walking over.
“Well from you of course! You sing your songs and lure innocent people into the forest!”
“Ain’t nothin’ of the sort! Have you ever even listened to the song we sing?”
“Now-now Brem.” Said the elderly man comfortingly. “Townsfolk are right ta’ be wary of our ways. They left our lands a long time ago, an’ they aren’t as aware as we. They still follow the way just as we do, but they don’t recall the roots of our traditions.”
“You… you aren’t sent by the darkness?” I asked, confused by the old man’s words.
“We come each season offering to bless the hearths. The song we sing is a blessing unto those within the house for prosperity in the coming year.” Said the man with the top hat. “But our ways, they are confusing to those like you who dwell in silence. We come from the wild lands, and still know the meanings of words and the rhythm of songs.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant then, and even now, so many years later, I still ponder the meaning of his words. But what I was gradually coming to understand was that the fears I had been raised with were not the complete story. There was more to the actions of the carolers than I had ever been lead to believe, and now, talking with them, I saw the same earnest belief I had seen in my family burning in their own hearts.
It is strange how some memories become clouded with age. While I can so clearly recall the top hatted man’s words, much of that night is a blur of warmth, laughter, and mugs of cider. The men were a family. Son, Father, Grandfather, and the giant man Hal, who had been adopted into their caravan. They told me of the lands they had traversed and we shared stories of our homes, our lives, and the things that brought us together and kept us apart.
~~~~~~
Over the next hour, the front room filled with numerous guests; colleagues, friends, family all rubbing elbows and celebrating the season with merry drinking and squabbles over bits of food.
Beatrice carefully maneuvered through the crowd balancing a drink and plate of food. Dodging an overly enthusiastic arm, she finally stopped in front of an elderly woman in one of the plush armchairs.
“Here you go Grandma.” She said, carefully handing her the plate.
“Why thank you Bea.” she said, taking the plate and prodding the cookies. “What was that tune you were humming just now?”
“You heard me?” she gasped. Beatrice’s eyes grew wide, as she glanced around, worried that others may have heard her.
Her grandmother laughed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of dear.”
“But mother said…”
“Bah! Your mother is just like mine was. All fire and brimstone when it comes to singing.” Her hand waved as though she was clearing the girl’s words from the air around her. “Have I ever told you about the night I met a group of carolers?”
Beatrice’s mouth fell open.
“You actually spoke with them?” she asked in disbelief.
“Oh more than that dear child! It was a cold mid-winter night when I was about fifteen…
~~~~
We were living in a small town, just on the outskirts of the Northern Woodlands. My mother had raised us to be good believers of course, but it’s the nature of every youngster to challenge all authority. Especially in those in-between years.
Now we had been warned off, not to talk to any of the strangers that would be passing through and offering songs. They were demons, we were told. And given the chance, they’d sing all manner of temptations and lure us off into the woods where we’d freeze, or worse, become demons ourselves.
I of course was curious to see if it was really true, so I decided that given the chance, I’d follow the group should they pass through town. Now it’s not to say I was foolhardy. I had it all planned out so that I wouldn’t be the one lead away by their songs. I wore a pair of earmuffs, and padded them with a pair of woolen socks so that the only sound I could hear was my own breathing.
I snuck out the back door as mother was shooing them away and watched as they moved on. There were four in total. A young boy with a patchwork cap, an older man with a raggedy top hat, an elderly man with a long white beard and a crushed bowler, and a giant of a man, three heads taller than the tallest of the three, who wore a wreath upon his head.
As they stopped at each house, the giant man would pluck a spring of greenery from his wreath, handing a leaf to each of the men and then, in unison, they would start singing. It seemed as though my eyes were playing tricks on me, but the leaves they held began to glow. Not like fire, but they became somehow greener and brighter.
I watched in awe, but just as at my own house, the door would always open, the singing would stop, and the men would be chased away.
It was over two hours in the cold before they finally reached the small tavern on the edge of town. As it began to lightly snow they glanced at one another before they nodded and headed inside. I was uncertain now what I wanted to do. Should I follow them in there? I guessed that they wouldn’t try any of their tricks in front of the patrons, and so I waited a few minutes before walking in after them.
The four men were gathered around the hearth with drinks in their hands. I grudgingly took off my padded earmuffs and, having purchased a cup of warm cider, found a chair within earshot.
“It’s the darndest thing.” Said the old man with the crushed bowler. “Ain’t seen so many of them turn us away before.”
“Ah, there-there old timer.” Intoned the man with top hat.
“I just wish we could make ‘em understand.” Said the young man pulling off his patchwork cap and running a hand through his hair and revealing a pair of horns.
I stared in disbelief, but there they were, plain as day. Two tiny, twisted horns poking out of his curly hair.
As though he could somehow sense that I was staring, he turned around, and laughing as I squeaked, he flashed me a smile before replacing his cap and tipping the brim. In similar fashion, the man with the top hat lifted his hat, revealing tall twisted horns, and the old man lifted his bowler revealing what appeared to be ram’s horns, high upon his head. The giant man did nothing with his wreath, but gave me a giant grin with white teeth that shone from under his dark beard.
“Good evenin’ miss” said the young man. “Lovely weather ‘eh?”
“Ha!” said the old man. “It ain’t fit for no demon out tonight, let alone a lady like yerself.”
“If you wanted to hear us sing, why didn’t you just ask?” inquired the top hatted man. “It would have been much simpler than following us all night.”
Well I was shocked. They had known all along! How did I ever think I could outsmart a demon? But I had to say something. I had to keep my wits about me, lest they lure me away to the woods.
“Well someone had to protect the towns-folk.” I said with an air of confidence and fearlessness.
“Protect them? From wha’?” asked the young man walking over.
“Well from you of course! You sing your songs and lure innocent people into the forest!”
“Ain’t nothin’ of the sort! Have you ever even listened to the song we sing?”
“Now-now Brem.” Said the elderly man comfortingly. “Townsfolk are right ta’ be wary of our ways. They left our lands a long time ago, an’ they aren’t as aware as we. They still follow the way just as we do, but they don’t recall the roots of our traditions.”
“You… you aren’t sent by the darkness?” I asked, confused by the old man’s words.
“We come each season offering to bless the hearths. The song we sing is a blessing unto those within the house for prosperity in the coming year.” Said the man with the top hat. “But our ways, they are confusing to those like you who dwell in silence. We come from the wild lands, and still know the meanings of words and the rhythm of songs.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant then, and even now, so many years later, I still ponder the meaning of his words. But what I was gradually coming to understand was that the fears I had been raised with were not the complete story. There was more to the actions of the carolers than I had ever been lead to believe, and now, talking with them, I saw the same earnest belief I had seen in my family burning in their own hearts.
It is strange how some memories become clouded with age. While I can so clearly recall the top hatted man’s words, much of that night is a blur of warmth, laughter, and mugs of cider. The men were a family. Son, Father, Grandfather, and the giant man Hal, who had been adopted into their caravan. They told me of the lands they had traversed and we shared stories of our homes, our lives, and the things that brought us together and kept us apart.
Before I knew it, the sky outside began to lighten and without sleep I was too tired to walk back home. Gently, Hal perched me upon his shoulder while Brem scrambled up onto the other, and together we walked back through the fresh snow. The sun was just glimmering on the horizon as Hal began to hum in a deep baritone.
Surprised, I lost my balance and grabbed the top of his head. As I did so, I realized that unlike the others, he did not have horns. Instead, the branches and leaves I had believed were a wreath, were actually growing from the top of his head. He chuckled and the leaves seemed to dance underneath me before he continued humming.
The grandfather joined in next, followed by the father, and then Brem. They each added to the tune with their unique tones. And then, they began to sing a song. I cannot recall the words they used, but they sang of blessings to all they had met along the way. That each door closed would be another open in years to come, and as I learned the refrain, I found myself joining them in singing. Brem glanced over and his face lit with a smile as we both began the next refrain with even more fervor.
Outside my door I bid them all safe travels but they paused.
“Before we leave, may we offer you our blessin’?” asked Brem.
“Please.” I replied.
With that, Hal reached up to his leaves as I had seen him do each time the night before, and plucked four of them. Each man took a leaf, and without so much as a signal, they began to sing.
Each leaf glowed, and though they had been dry and stiff, I could see that as the song progressed, they unfurled and swayed with light and vitality. Tiny balls of white light drifted from them and filled the air, dancing around the doorway before fading like gentle snowflakes.
As the song finished, Brem collected the leaves from the other men, and showed me a final cluster of lights resting on top of them. As the singing stopped the lights did not melt, but seemed to cool, and harden into tiny white berries.
“Mistletoe.” he said, gently placing the sprig in my hair.
I gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and blushing, he returned to the group.
As they walked back toward the road I watched Hal scuffle his hair. The others seemed to be laughing, but he stopped to call back.
“Shall you visit us again next year?”
~~~~
“Did you see him again Grandma?” asked Beatrice, her eyes glazed with wonderment.
“Oh, that I did dear. I would sneak out each year as they passed by the house and we’d spend the night sharing stories of the adventures we’d had. But it’s been many years since that time. So many long years... And now child, I’m afraid I must be off. Give me a hand standing up, will you dear?”
Beatrice helped her grandmother stand up, and together they walked toward the door. Her grandmother carefully gathered up her jacket and gloves, before removing her hat from the shelf.
“Where are you off to mother?” asked Harold as he passed by the corridor.
“Oh, no where in particular dear boy. Just meeting an old friend.” She said with a sly smile as she kissed his cheek.
As Beatrice watched, her grandmother put on her hat, and adjusting the band, tucked in a sprig of mistletoe.
“Grandma?” she said with a grin.
Her grandmother said nothing, but leaned over to give the girl a hug, a wink, and a smile.
As she opened the door, a man's voice sang from the street-side, and her grandmother’s voice joined his.
Here we come a-wassailing
Among the leaves so green;
Here we come a-wand'ring
So fair to be seen…
Noël Coleman
Phones should not be allowed to ring past midnight without emergency reasons.
Your dog ate every last piece of chocolate from your stocking?
Explain it to the phone.
You set yourself on fire?
Explain it to the phone.
Or, maybe, have someone else explain it. I’m pretty sure phones melt.
Phones should not be allowed for drunks when you’ve got work in the morning.
Someone had failed to explain this very important rule to Georgie.
Georgie Willosborogh was 24 years old.
She liked bad scifi and cheap noodles and torturing me since birth.
It was one thing to gain a best friend in high school.
It was another altogether to be raised and forced into…
answering the phone for your drunk twin sister on Christmas Night.
“NIVEAAAAAAAAA!”
“No.”
I hung up.
The phone rang.
I answered, of course.
“Nivea Jean Willosborogh.”
“No.”
Hang up.
Ring.
Answer.
“NIVEA, DON’T YOU DARE -”
“Nope.”
Hang up.
Ring.
Don’t answer.
*Chirp! Chirp!*
“Unnngggh.”
The problem with messages are she never leaves them unless something important is happening.
Drunk Georgie is too impatient to wait for the beep.
Drunk Georgie usually flings the phone across the room and prays it hasn’t cracked again.
Which meant I had to call her back.
“NIVEA! GET. HERE. NOW.”
“Georgie. It’s 3am. It’s pitch black outside.”
“I KNOOOW, BUT -”
“I think it’s snowing.”
“oh, it totally is, but -”
“I’m not driving at night in a snowstorm.”
“SHUT YOUR FACE. LISTEN.”
“Okay, okay, I’m listening.”
“There’s a goat.”
The phone line went dead.
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself slumped against the steering wheel watching my older sister chasing a goat through a snowstorm.
I rolled down the window, holding a straight face just long enough to shout, “I thought you were drunk!”
She stopped in the middle of… someone’s front lawn, and threw her hands down at her side.
“I AM.”
The goat took the golden opportunity to run up to her and spit out –
Before I knew what I was doing, I was pushing my way to her through the falling snow. The creak of my closing door drawing The Goat’s attention away from us for the moment. “Is that your cell phone?”
Georgie kneeled down in the snow, holding up a crunched and slobbery looking maybe-phone.
“Possibly. Do you think replacements are covered by goat?”
I shrugged. “So. It’s snowing.”
“Yup.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“Ohhh yeah.”
“And there’s a goat?”
“Obviously.”
“Why is there a goat?”
“Well you see, when some people get drunk they make rather poor decisions and -”
“Georgie”
“Nivea, I’m not gonna lie. I stole it.”
“You stole a goat?”
“It was wassailing!”
“You stole a … caroling goat?”
“Sort of. I mean, it was with people who were caroling. It wasn’t so much into the whole ‘singing’ thing” Georgie paused mid-air quote. There was a snuffling noise as The Goat investigated my car. “Or maybe it was into the singing but not very good at it. Do goats sing well?”
“I don’t… you STOLE a GOAT.”
“Well, Yes. But that was before I knew it ate phones.”
“Why did you steal a goat?”
“I forgot to get you a Christmas present.” There was a silence. The snow fell and The Goat snuffled some more at the car and I stared at my sister like she’d grown a third head. She dramatically swung her arms out towards The Goat. “Here, have a goat.”
“I uhh…” The Goat looked at me blankly before turning back to my car and trying to eat my rearview mirror. “Thanks.”
“See, I knew you’d love it!” The Goat continued to chew on my rearview mirror. “Gosh, he’s really friendly with your car there.” With the sound of frozen metal screaming, The Goat ripped the mirror off my car.
“It… it just… it.. my car.”
As I flailed in the direction of my car, Georgie calmly patted my leg.
“Bad news, sis. Cars probably don’t cover Goat.”
The Goat clopped over and spit the mirror at my feet. It paused. Just paused. And stared at me.
“Thanks… 2Goat.”
“MAEHH MAEHEHEHEHE”
Without breaking eye contact with The Goat, I grabbed at my sister’s arm and pulled her up from the snow. “Did you have to get me an evil goat?”
“Well there weren’t really options. It was just goat or not goat.”
“Georgie?”
“Nivea?”
“Next time? Not goat.”
“Oh definitely.”
The Goat started pounding onto the frozen ground with his front hooves.
“I mean, I can’t give you the same gift twice. It’s not like candles.”
We started to back towards the car.
“You said you liked the candle!”
“Yeah, the first 4 times I got the same exact one.”
The Goat pawed at the ground until he hit grass, still staring us down.
“I mean, Happy Birthday! Candle. Christmas! Candle. Candle. Candle.”
The Goat started to scream.
We ran.
“NO MORE CANDLES.”
“NO MORE GOATS.”
“DEAL!” We both screamed, lunging through her front door and slamming it before The Goat could follow.
We both slumped, backs against the front door. What do you do after narrowly escaping death by goat?
I closed my eyes. And opened them to see Georgie with her phone out, fumbling through 9-1-1.
“Hello? YES! Yes, we, umm, we ran into some problems with a goat.”
“How did you -” Georgie shushed me with a wave of her hand.
“Yes, this is an emergency! There’s a goat!”
“But how -”
Georgie slumped against the door, “No I’m NOT drunk! Well, a little. But there’s this goat, dude. And he’s all -”
“Georgie how do you have your phone?”
My sister paused and pulled her phone back to stare at it.
I grabbed the phone from her hands and tried a more sober approach with the dispatcher.
“Please send help!” The door rocked against our backs. “You may want to bring Animal Control.”
Muffled grunts and snuffles found their way under the door.
“No, no, no. There really is a …oh okay. Yes, okay.”
“Are they coming? What happened?”
“I’m on hold.”
A thump knocked into the door, pushing us both forward and onto the floor.
“Do you think the door is goat proof?”
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